He Remembered My Coffee Order

I don’t often skip my routine.

I dropped by my neighborhood café in the morning, the way I usually do. Sure, I deviate from it for some things. If I have an errand before work or an early meeting where I know there will be coffee, I’ll skip it. But, like most mornings, I strode into my nearby coffee bar, prepared to decide between one of my favorites or having them surprise me. I did NOT expect a stranger to remember my coffee order and surprise me on my way into the office.

I guess this time it was my turn to be surprised.

No sooner had I turned my attention to the barista than my usual latte was placed in front of me. I looked up at him suspiciously, about to ask how he knew what I wanted. With a little flutter of his eyelids, he just jerked his head toward the back of the café.

“Someone’s been watching you,” he said. “He remembered your coffee order.”

At first, I thought I was being treated to a VIP frequent-customer drink, like some sort of punch-card holder. However, I turned my head and looked toward the back. There he was, innocently glancing at me from over his laptop. He remembered my coffee order? Who?

I gave the barista a second glance to double-check. Is he saying that man in the back got me my coffee? And someone told him about it ahead of time? He remembered my coffee order, as in, he knew it in the first place? That’s crazy. That’s wonderful. It’s crazy wonderful… I think. Should I go thank him for remembering my coffee order?

It’s only polite, isn’t it? So, I thanked the barista, tossed some cash into the tip jar, and began to saunter over to my new benefactor. He wasn’t doing much to hide his interest any longer. He remembered my coffee order, bought it for me, and sat back. As I joined him at the two-seater table he was occupying, I noticed him looking at my face expectantly. However, he also wasn’t hiding the way his eyes slid up and down my legs. I sat down, modestly crossed my ankles, and thanked him for my coffee.

It was, indeed, my usual.

As I took a sip, I tasted my usual brown sugar latte and asked him how he knew. I also asked how he would have guessed that I wasn’t going to ask for a recommendation this morning, as I sometimes do from my favorite baristas. He looked at me very seriously and said I only ask the girls on Friday mornings because those seem to be the ones I trust most with their recommendations.

My eyes widened, mostly out of impressed awe, but a little out of concern for my anonymity. You remember my coffee order, but also my habits, too? My habits of asking the barista’s questions? Exactly how long have you been watching me, handsome stranger? A week? A month? Maybe longer. Then, in a show of trust, he gives me his business card and tells me I can cross-reference it against the information the café knows.

Ah, but my coffee order isn’t free, and I don’t mean money.

He has to give me something in exchange. He must know that. It’ll cost exactly one coffee order of his own. He balks a little, reluctant to talk about something as personal as coffee preferences. How dare I ask such personal questions after he’s gone as far as this, to obtain my personal bean juice preferences? He remembered my coffee order, so I want to remember his, obviously.

Eventually, I clawed out.

A pro confession slut like me always does. A sophisticated fellow like this takes his espresso with a little bit of sugar and nothing else. I should have known. So, I whisk myself away to the bar to get one, as I rarely like to leave my impromptu dates owing anything. It’s the only way to keep my power even when I have a crush on them.

Finally, as I left him sipping your espresso, I also left him with my phone number. I hope I get a text. I love that you remembered my coffee order, maybe you can remember more? What an ambitious man, he’s gone so far to capture my caffeinated attention. I’d love for him to get my nocturnal attention as well.

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